


Atlas

by sartietingles



Series: Sartie Week [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartietingles/pseuds/sartietingles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is on his way to Finn and Rachel's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atlas

_MOVE THAT FINE ASS ALONG SAM EVANS WE ARE ALL WAITING BECAUSE FOR SOME REASON THIS WEDDING IS A THING THAT CAN'T WAIT_

_thers bad traffic artie-bear tell finn 2 start without me_

_aww cute he says he won't start without you boo. HURRY!_

_on my way!_

A frantic telephone call from Sam's parents later, the members of New Directions sat in extreme silence. Shocked.

Sam Evans had been hit by a truck and no one knew what to do.

Least of all his boyfriend, Artie. His mind had numbed over when Finn broke down crying on the phone to Sam's dad. It was more than anyone could take seeing - Finn kept up an appearance of being so together, so strong. As much as some of them didn't like it sometimes, he was their leader. And watching him crack like that was too much. Even before they know why.

He got it back together enough to tell them what had happened.

And then everyone broke in their own ways.

Kurt, Tina and Rachel had been sitting together – a dangerous combination at the best of times – and Artie watched the tears stream down their faces. Blaine folded in on himself, blank faced and leaning on Kurt's shoulder. Puck had Finn's head tucked in his shoulder as the larger boy shook, tears shining down his face too.

Artie watched everyone break, and it was strange to do. It was stranger still because he wasn't breaking. He couldn't feel anything. He'd shut down completely.

Someone had remembered him, an arm on his shoulder, telling him it will be ok. He didn't know who it was and he didn't care.

_Because how could anything be ok now._

Sam, his Sam, his perfect Sam who even if the world fell off its hinges, ended and burned around their feet could find something to make Artie smile, was gone. So nothing was ok.

Wait – gone?  _Gone?_

As hard as he tried Artie couldn't imagine a single thing in a world where Sam was gone – dead, crushing under  _a fucking truck_  - that could make him smile.

But gone…  _properly gone._ That was something Sam couldn't be. The world had ended and was burning around his feet and Sam wouldn't be there to make him smile ever again.

Someone was shaking him, another arm was around his shoulder, a cold hand rested on his palm. Artie suddenly became aware that he was now gasping for air. He could see people in front of him were talking but he couldn't hear them. The room was spinning. His head hurt. He tried to roll away but his arms felt week. The faces around him were panicking, trying to make him stop panicking.

He blacked out.

He woke up later that day, still at the reception place, confused. After remembering what had happened all he wanted was to have something knock him out again.

There had been news, it had changed from they don't know what'll happen to critical condition with a large side helping of they don't know.

So Sam's not dead and Artie could breathe. This was all good until the hugely negative side of Artie brain crept in and whispered, very loudly,  _for now_.

Kurt offered to drive Artie home, and they spent the trip in a thick silence. Kurt kept looking over, trying to find something to say, but never quite getting there. He put the radio on, trying to cover up the silence. Artie tried to let the music drown out his thoughts.

A mindless radio announcer drawled on about some competition, then the music started again.

_I know you love me_

_I know you care_

_Just shout whenever_

_And I'll be there_

_You are my love_

_You are my heart_

_And we will never, ever, ever be apart_

"Oh god," Kurt joked, "I can't believe they're still playing this song." He smiled at Artie encouragingly, hoping for a laugh. He was shocked to see Artie looking paler than before, the beginnings of tears sliding down his cheeks.

"A-artie?"

He sniffed. "Sam used to sing this to me all the time."

"Oh." Kurt didn't know how to respond to that. He considered turning it off but Artie seemed to be clinging to the song in his mind.

He was thinking about the last time Sam had sung that to him. They'd gone to the park – just the two of them – and Sam was trying out the ukulele Artie had bought him for his birthday. He couldn't quite figure out the transposition from the guitar to the ukulele, so he ended up singing it super high in this ridiculous falsetto. Artie had laughed so much tears had shown up in his eyes, and Sam had thrown the ukulele away, and dived on Artie to kiss the tears away, but Artie still couldn't stop his laughing.

He tried to remember being that happy. He tried to remind himself that it was only a few weeks ago.

But now he couldn't be sure if he'd ever do anything like that with Sam again. There was no laughter, jus tears. And no one to kiss them away.

_I'm in pieces_

_Baby, fix me_

_Or just shake me til you wake me from this bad dream_

_I'm going down, down, down, down_

_And I just can't believe my first love won't be around_

Artie sat in a stony silence the whole way home.

Kurt hugged him as he left him at his house, telling him to not give up, not expect the worse. He told him he'd be by tomorrow, to see how he was.

Artie wanted to thank Kurt, but, after a lump in his throat the size of his fist had been choking back tears for a good while now, he knew that if he spoke he'd set himself off and break down weeping. So he just nodded.

Artie sat on his bed, still in the itchy monkey suit.

Don't give up, don't expect the worst. He knew Kurt had been through this before with his dad, but he found his words shallow and hard to believe. Why  _shouldn't_  Artie expect the worst - or at least prepare for it? – the voices urged. Everything was up in the air at that point. And from what little Artie had heard about the accident in a brief segment in the local news that night about the size of the truck and other fun facts, things didn't seem very positive. In fact, there was so little positivity in these news reports that Artie went and threw up for a good half an hour after seeing them.

The negative voices crept up again as Artie tried to sleep that night.

Artie rarely went down the wallowing-in-self-pity road, because it never led to a good place. But he indulged himself. He thought of all the awful things that had happened to him but shouldn't have. All the people he trusted who betrayed him. All the people who couldn't see past his damn chair. All the times when he finally could confidently say he was happy, only to have it pulled out from underneath him, leaving him feeling more empty than ever.

But most of all he thought of Sam. He couldn't keep his thoughts away from Sam. Sam who was so kind and giving to everyone. Sam who loved him. Sam who'd been through so much. Sam whose heart could be stopping and whose warmth could be leaving the world at any moment.

Artie felt sick again.

* * *

The next morning Artie lay in bed, staring at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. He hadn't slept at all but he had no intentions of getting out of his bed. He stared at his phone, willing it to ring with good news, but at the same time not daring his hopes to lift that high.

After a few hours there was a knock on his door. He listened as his younger brother answered it.

It was Sam's parents.

They came into Artie's room, where he was still lying in the tux on his bed.

Artie braced himself.

"He's fine," Sam's mum choked after a pause that was far too long and allowed Artie to have the worst thoughts.

"What?" Artie didn't dare believe it.

"Well," his dad said. "Not  _fine_ exactly. He's got a few broken ribs and legs… some scarring. He'll be in hospital for a while, but he'll be out good as new before we know it."

Artie choked out a sob of disbelief, which completely set of Sam's mum and she was hugging him and crying too.

"We're just on our way to go see him," she told him. "Did you want to come with us?"

Artie nodded and minutes later found himself in the car with Sam's parents and his brother and sister. They rolled up to the hospital and, like every time Artie went to a hospital, he was mistaken for a patient. It took all the self-control he had not to yell at a doctor who asked why he wasn't wearing his gown. He sat in the waiting room as Sam's family went to see him first. He heard them all laughing. He smiled, knowing Sam had probably made some wildly inappropriate joke about his condition to break the tension.

Eventually they came out, smiling with tears in their eyes. Sam's dad ruffled Artie's hair. "He wouldn't stop asking about you," he laughed. "So you should probably hurry up."

Artie rolled into the room, smiling widely, thanking his lucky stars that his Sam is fine and alive and ok and-

 _So pale,_  Artie noted. So small looking. Tubes and bandages and machines all around him. The seriousness of the accident smacked him in the face again as he slowly rolled up to the side of Sam's bed.

"Hey, hot stuff," Sam smiled widely. Most of the colour had drained from his face. Artie found himself thinking about how much blood he must have lost in the accident.

"Hey," Artie whispered, wide-eyed, unsure of how to deal with this.

Sam reached out his hand for Artie to hold, and Artie took it gently, relishing the warmth that reminded him that Sam was still here.

Sam looked concerned. "Are you OK?"

Artie choked on a watery laugh. "I should be asking you that."

"You just seem a little…" Sam began, but Artie interrupted him.

"I thought I'd lost you."

"You didn't, though," Sam said, patting his hand. "That's the important part, right?"

"I just don't," Artie sniffed loudly, feeling himself get hysterical again. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"No," Sam whispered. "Artie don't talk like that. You don't need me. You're so strong."

A sob crept up Artie's throat. "No, you're the strong one, Sam. You've been through the worst and you still came out smiling at the end."

Squeezing his hand, Sam whispered. "So did you."

Artie allowed himself a laugh. "Fine. We're both Atlas then."

Sam looked confused.

"Greek mythology," Artie explained, placing another hand on Sam's to make sure he was still there. "He's super strong. Holds up the world."

Sam nodded, looking impressed.

"I'm sure there's a comic book version somewhere," Artie laughed. He sniffed loudly and another wet tear slid down his cheek. Sam moved to wipe it off with his thumb.

"I'll hold up your world if you hold up mine." Sam's hand was still on Artie's cheek, gazing into his boyfriend's eyes.

Artie bit his lip. "My world is yours anyway."

Sam looked touched, but the moment became too heavy so he jokingly inhaled sharply through his teeth. "Baby that was  _cheesy,_ " he laughed loudly.

Usually Artie would make some retort or call Sam out on his own cheesiness, but this time he just crumpled forward, putting his head on Sam's lap and, as much as he tried to prevent it, the waterworks started again. "Please, Sam, you nearly died." Artie's words came out fast, trying to beat the oncoming sobs. "I think I'm allowed to be a little bit cheesy."

Sam stroked his air and whispered soothingly to him. It hurt him enough to see Artie like this, so he couldn't imagine how Artie had been feeling.

"I'm here now, Artie-bear," Sam urged. "It's ok."

Artie's tears were making the front of Sam's hospital gown wet, but he couldn't stop. He made a weepy noise in response, repeating the words again and again in his head.  _Sam's here. It's ok. Sam's here._

Artie eventually sat up again, coughing away the last few sobs and wiping his cheeks with his jumper.

"You all done now?" Sam smiled, tears glistening on his face too. Artie nodded and clasped his hand over Sam's again because they hadn't been touching for a few seconds and Artie still needed proof that Sam was still here and alive and warm and his.

Sam tried to lean down to kiss Artie, but his chest hurt too much and there were too many tubes and contraptions tying him down, and Artie's chair was too low. But Artie pushed himself up on the arms of his chair, lifting himself up just enough to meet Sam's lips for a sweet kiss.

Artie lowered himself back into his chair, and Sam chuckled, impressed. "That was kind of hot," he grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

Seeing Sam's doctor coming into the ward for another check-up, Artie leaned in to his boyfriend to say goodbye.

"I love you," Artie took Sam's hand in his, kissing it. "So much."

"I know," Sam grinned. "I love you too."

Artie knew this wasn't the end, that it wasn't going to get easier quickly. He knew Sam would be in the hospital for a long time. He knew there'd be days that are so hard and so hopeless and cold in this sterile place. There'd be nightmares of lights and car horns and shattering glass, the kind that came to Artie every so often. But Artie would be there for Sam for all of it.


End file.
